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MY POETRY HOME — trespassers welcome

Waiting (For Orqidia)Written at Home, (GRA) Ilorin — Nigeria.
(Thursday, November 30, 2001)
The first week of
Ramadan and a new love.

As hollow stomachs are echoing
the idle noises of empty pots
in the spirit of abstinence,
I hear the creaking of the gate
and I dash thru' the yard in the
afternoon haze to meet
the one who makes me so anxious,
but I end up embracing
the dry harmattan dust...

I retrace my steps back indoors to
begin the first of what would later become
a neurotic ritual for a month of Sundays:
I nervously comb my hair,
look at the clock, peer out the window,
and dash thru' the yard over and again
whenever the gate creaks, hoping to
meet that woman who makes me so anxious,
but I only end up hugging dusts and fantasies.

I wait in hope, but I do not wish
for the one that makes me so anxious to
keep herself in abeyance for so long.

I would rather she shows up now and
seal my lips shut with a kiss –
that lovely trick designed by nature to
stop speech when words become superfluous.